Drink With Me
by SamanthaFeng
Summary: On this Christmas Eve, all they did was drinking.


A/N: Just a small piece for Christmas. Sorry for all the mistakes, 'cause English is not my mother language.

Declaimer: Nothing is mine, except the mistakes

* * *

_Drink with me to days gone by_

_To the life that used to be_

Zoe Morgan was one of the only few guests in this normally crowed bar in Manhattan.

She was quietly sipping her drink, absently watching people occasionally rushed past the bar window in this snowing day.

It's Christmas Eve, when the bar only belongs to people who have no home come to. Since her mom died two years ago, she became one of those guys.

A dark figure quietly approached her.

"Zoe." The low husky voice came as a surprise, but was surely not unwelcome.

"John." She turned to that voice, lips curling into a smile," Nice to see you here."

He slide into the stool beside her and waved for the bartender to order him the same drink she had and give Zoe a refill.

"That's very generous of you." She dragged the words a little, a slightly teasing tone in her voice, "So no Mr. Finch?"

"He has other obligations." The man in the dark suit finished his drink in a gulp and signed for another.

She looked at him at the dim light of the bar. There was a trace of blood in the collar of his shirt, and a fresh bruise stark at his left cheek.

"Still working on Christmas holiday?"

"Well, crime never sleeps." He answered lightly, but offered no more.

She didn't press. She understood some men's rule of not speaking about work. Actually, she had the same rule too. No need to burden others with some more danger than they already had.

"So, tell me John, did you happen to walk into the same bar I'm in, among the thousand bars in New York City, out of coincidence?"

"The world is full of coincidence, Zoe." His face remained impassive, but Zoe didn't miss the glitter of smile in his eyes.

"What do you want us to talk about then, thanks to this amazing coincidence?"

"I don't know. You asked me to buy you drinks."

"Well, your job, off limits. My job, too sensitive. Your past?" She tried half-hearted while watching him (his pupil darkened at the sound of past, and she wasn't really surprised), "guess it's a no. My past, I doubt there is anything your invisible friend hasn't told you."

"What about, "she contemplated, and then said with a mischievous smile, "your favorite Christmas gift when you're a kid?"

He looked up from his glass and glared at her with wide eyes. She smirked.

He lifted the corner off his month slightly, looking amused, but he didn't reply.

Some random business man came over and recognized Zoe, so she chatted a few words with him all politely and accepted the business card he slipped her. By the time he left, John already half way through his third glass.

"A dog." He said.

"A what?" She was confused at first, not sure what he was talking about.

"My favorite gift. A dog." He explained, "A puppy, more likely."

He seemed to be loosed up a bit more than he first walked in, because he actually told her about how the very young John Reese got and then lost his puppy, (in his low voice, with some old jazz playing in the background swaying gently across the room).

It amazed her a little to picture John being such a normal person. No fighting or danger or hurting or running, just a normal story about a boy and a puppy. But the distant look in his eyes told her all these were pasts that were already broken and shattered and still and will always hunt him.

Be the best fixer in town, Zoe Morgan can fix politics, she can fix business, she knew every angle and can use them to fix every hole in the city, but she can't fix men, especially the very man sitting beside her. Although she had long past the phase of trying to fix a man, this thought still saddened her.

So she reached over and held his hand (surprisingly he didn't pull out) and drank with him. That's the only thing she can do.

John was still the first one to pull away though. He ordered another refill, and when Zoe was considering moving away his glass, he said, "enough about me, it's your turn to answer questions."

"It's a movie," She happily complied, "I was 8 and -"

John raised a hand and cut her off, "That's not the question I want to ask."

"Oh." She could already smell alcohol in his breath, but she was happy to see him unwind, "so what's yours? Hit me."

"What about," He had that quirky smile of his, "what do you want for dinner later?"

Zoe Morgan never startled, (well apart from that time he asked her to marry him), but she certainly didn't expect this.

"Are you inviting me to dinner, John?"

He simply raised one of his eyebrows.

"Too bad, I've already been booked." And that was true. "He'll pick me up in about twenty minutes."

"The lawyer?"

"No, "She chuckled, knowing he still remember that time, "some other guy."

He nodded, words then kind of lost between them. They continued to drink to the silence, to the absence of chances, and to the interesting thing called timing.

Then her phone rang, she checked the message and rose from her seat. "I gotta go."

She took her coat, letting him help her with it, and said, "Don't tail me again, John. Next time you want a drink, just call me. You got my number."

Always challenged by the expressionless face of his, she leaned in, brushing her lips gently over his cheek, and stayed inches away from his ear, "Don't be shy John, after all, it's just a drink."


End file.
